


Five Times Aramis' Womanizing Got the Musketeers into Trouble

by Meskeet, Red_Tigress



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis can't keep it in his pants, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and, if you ask Porthos, there's no one time it didn't.</p><p>Aramis is the fox in the henhouse, if all of Paris is the henhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where d'Artagnan Almost Gets Hung

**Author's Note:**

> This series is co-written between Red Tigress and Meskeet. Red Tigress wrote this chapter, while Meskeet edited.

“Remember when I told you that if I was going to be hung I’d take it very personally? I’m starting to take this rather personally,” D’Artagnan whispered to his companion.

“Do you something to share, Monsieur d’Artagnan?” the judge asked.

D’Artagnan shook his head slowly, and then leveled a glare at Aramis who had the decency to look sheepish. Like d’Artagnan, his hands were bound in front of him with rope, while two Red Guards stood at their backs. The Cardinal had a slightly smug look on his face, but hadn’t said anything during the trial.

Which wasn’t even d’Artagnan’s trial. He was more than a bit miffed when Red Guards had seized him and Aramis in the street, claiming that they’d been charged with assaulting a nobleman’s wife. D’Artagnan had never heard of them, but Aramis had mumbled something about _“She_ seduced _me!”_

D’Artagnan had kicked him to make him hold his tongue.

Athos, who had been down the street and saw the commotion, turned on his heel immediately to walk briskly in the opposite direction. D’Artagnan assumed he was going to report their unfair imprisonment to Treville, but he couldn’t really blame the other man if he had just been fleeing the scene.

“Monsieur Léone,” the Judge said, and an angry looking man stepped forward. His clothes placed him as someone of status, and d’Artagnan grimaced. Leave it to Aramis…

“These Musketeers are heathens!” he shouted. “Practicing the most despicable aspects of adultery, and going unpunished for it!” He waved his hand so much as he spoke, that d’Artagnan for a moment had the fleeting impression that he was trying to strike them from ten meters away.

The judge also seemed a little impatient at the antics, but probably the only reason he was putting up with this case was because there was money involved. He didn’t look happy about it though.

“I demand they be hung,” Léone growled.

“We’ll wait on a sentence until all the facts are heard,” the judge rumbled. “What happened when you were returning to your home?”

“I saw…I saw…” Léone’s eyes widened with rage. “His manhood in my wife!” There was a low chuckle from the crowd at large, and d’Artagnan looked towards his companion incredulously. Aramis, for his part, remained silent although a very smug look was plastered on his face.

“Maybe you can be pleased at your reputation some _other_ time?” d’Artagnan mumbled under his breath. He grit his teeth when he saw Aramis had the gall to _wink_ at one woman in the crowd who then giggled.

“Order!” Shouted the judge. He turned back to Léone, nodding his head at d’Artagnan. “And the other?”

“Well,” and here Léone seemed somewhat unsure. “After I chased this heathen out of the house, he escaped. But I saw him not two days hence with this one!”

D’Artagnan’s jaw dropped in outrage. “How is that grounds for arrest?”

“Be quiet Monsieur or I will hold you in contempt,” d’Artagnan snapped his mouth shut.

“If I may,” Aramis finally spoke. “While I am…indeed flattered by this man’s opinion of me,” Aramis said, and Léone turned a hot shade of red. D’Artagnan was sure he saw some spittle fly out of his mouth. “I cannot say with any measure of certainty, that beautiful though she was, I had an affair with Madame Léone. I don’t make it a habit of sleeping with married women.”

There were a few incredulous snorts from the crowd. Aramis just blinked innocently and smiled politely.

“I’m sorry you are so promiscuous you cannot remember every person you’ve been with Monsieur Aramis,” the judge stated. “But you have committed an egregious defense against a married man. So-”

“WAIT!” Everyone turned at the sound of Porthos’ voluminous voice filling up the room. He came in with Athos, Treville, and a woman that d’Artagnan had never seen before. Porthos gave a pointed look to Aramis as if to say he owed him, which Aramis returned with a slightly embarrassed grin.

“We have a character witness,” Treville stated calmly.

The judge sighed. “Very well, step forward.”

“I am a maid in Monsieur Léone’s household,” the woman stated. “I was there on the day in question.”

“Was this the man you saw?” The judge asked.

The woman looked from Léone back to the judge. “I would not like to call my employer’s dignity into question…”

“Was it yes or no?” The judge asked impatiently.

“No, it was not.”

A murmur from the crowd, and Aramis was looking rather smug again. His smile was quickly stifled by a pointed look from Treville.

“Very well, I’ve had just about enough of this. Léone, this is not the first man you’ve dragged in here, accusing them of adultery. Perhaps you had best keep a better eye on your wife. You are all free to leave.”

The guards moved forward, cutting Aramis’ and D’Artagnan’s bonds. The younger man saw out of the corner of his eye Athos slipping the maid a coin purse.

“Aramis,” Porthos said disapprovingly. “While we’re used to saving your sorry arse, did you have to bring poor, impressionable d’Artagnan into this as well?”

“Unfortunate circumstances, my apologies,” Aramis replied. But the sincerity was disproved by him winking at a woman in the crowd, whom d’Artagnan was pretty sure was Madame Léone.

“We’re going to have to dunk you in ice water,” Athos mumbled, as they left the court.


	2. The One With Porthos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Porthos is definitely not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's part two, featuring mainly Porthos. This chapter was written by Meskeet and edited by Red Tigress. Thanks for all the kudos and comments - enjoy!

“Find Aramis, he said,” Porthos growled, cautiously peering around the corner of the stone house and half expecting to be shot in place. “As if Athos wasn’t perfectly aware of where he is.”

Porthos glared sourly at the ornate door;  Aramis had ensured they were all more than distantly aware of his latest conquest. The Musketeer inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing as he tried to throw together a hasty plan.

Three entry points – front door, servants’ entrance on the side, second story porch in the back. The first route would be too obvious – if the lord heard him, he had no official reason to be lurking about. The second could be feasible – _if_ he knew how to find Aramis quickly. But the last… Porthos grimaced at the thought. The last surely led to the master’s suite, as no servant or child would be given rooms overlooking an ostentatious pond.

Porthos eyed the balcony something closer to horror than mere dread. “Curse it all, Aramis,” he grunted then froze.

It couldn’t be. Porthos now had another item to add to his list of grievances against his current Aramis-fetching expedition: the clatter of hooves ringing down the street.  If he hadn’t already decided the front door was a poor solution, he would have eliminated the idea entirely.

Athos owed him a drink for this. Aramis too. And d’Artagnan. As Porthos moved around the house at a sprint, he added Treville, the Cardinal, and the King in a fit of mulish annoyance. Although he’d never be able to collect, this entire damned mess might as well be their fault, too.

Porthos chose the if less valiant route, then the safer one. To his relief, the servant’s door was unlocked when he pushed against it, opening without a squeak. For a moment Porthos considered – where would the lady’s rooms be in the household?

Deferring to a childhood spent on the streets, Porthos took the stairs. He could hear a commotion near the front door, likely the reason he ran into no one on the way up. At the landing, he paused, glancing down the hall and trying to remember the porch’s location from the outside.

He could hear booted feet getting closer – about to come up the stairs, perhaps? Hurried by the sound, Porthos chose a likely looking door and shoved it open.

To his relief, it was the right one. He could see Aramis – luckily faced away from the door – leaning over his mistress, head nuzzling along her neck. Porthos couldn’t help but groan aloud.

 “Aramis!” Porthos hissed.

Aramis startled, falling off the bed with a crash and an oath. The lady screamed at Porthos’ entry, her eyes meeting his with a shock. This was… not exactly in his plan.

“Shh!” Aramis said desperately, looking frantic as he started scrambling for his clothing. “Porthos what-“

Porthos tipped his hat to the woman, giving her a smile, “My apologies, mademoiselle. Duty calls.”

A clamor arose from downstairs, and the booted feet Porthos heard earlier thumped up the flight of stairs. They had precious few seconds to escape notice.

“But – my lord-“

“Tell him we were thieves,” Porthos grimaced as Aramis scrambled upright, throwing on a long shirt that thankfully hit him midthigh. Porthos gathered what gear he could, grabbing Aramis by his shirt collar and dragging him to the balcony. “Once again, sorry for the interruption.”

Porthos opened the balcony door, checked the drop and winced. “Bend your knees,” he told Aramis as the woman straightened what looked to be a dressing gown.

Porthos shoved Aramis as the door opened, hearing a splash as his friend landed and a sputtered curse. Porthos heaved the gear over the edge, and heard a man – likely the lord or some guard – give a curse of his own.

“Thieves!” the woman screeched.

No, none of this was in the plan at all.

The Musketeer adjusted his saber and leapt, just as a shot rang out.

The pain in his side took him by surprise, and Porthos hit the ground before he was ready. He heard the snap before he felt it, ankle folding underneath him as his feet landed in the water.

"Aramis!" he said, the sound more strangled than he would like. Porthos would later blame the splutter on the fact that he fell facefirst into water that, unfortunately, wasn’t as deep as it appeared.

It _was_ deep enough, however, to leave him completely soaked.

This time, it was Porthos who found his shirt collar gripped and yanked. He groaned at the motion, cursing Aramis for more than just the sudden, sharp burn in his side.

“Time to run,” Aramis told him, but Porthos could see a flash of concern under the mischief in his eyes. “Unless you prefer to stay?”

“I admit to some disappointment from the lack of pastries,” Porthos grunted as Aramis let go of his shirt, trying to take a step and almost tipping over. The two of them startled at the sound of another shot and a bullet striking the ground a foot or so away.

Aramis lent him an arm out of the pond – Porthos noted with some satisfaction that Aramis, too, was soaked. However, the smug feeling vanished when he attempted to step with his twisted (well, broken, if he couldn’t walk on it) foot.

“Aramis,” Porthos said. “I-“

“You know I was jesting when we left d’Artagnan. I won’t actually leave you to be arrested by-“

“I was going to say, if you leave me to face _your_ lover’s jilted husband, I will personally oversee your execution.”

Aramis looped Porthos’ arm over his shoulders, wrapping the other one around his side and ignoring the Musketeer’s hiss of pain as he jostled the wound. “I was going to offer to shoot you and put you out of your misery. Porthos, are you bleeding?”

“Something like that,” he replied, skipping as best he could. He heard a door crash open as Aramis pulled him along. “You owe me for this.”

Aramis laughed, but the sound was strained. “Would it be possible to move a little faster?”

“I was shot and broke my ankle,” Porthos began in what he considered a reasonable tone. Judging from the slightly wary look Aramis gave him, he probably came across as more homicidal than anything else, “And you want _me_ to move faster?”

"Well," Aramis’ pace picked up and it was all Porthos could do to hop determinately alongside him. “Well… yes. I don’t suppose you thought to bring a horse?”

A growl was all he could spare – Porthos blinked, vision swimming momentarily as his foot was jarred by the transition from nobleman’s courtyard to unpaved Paris streets. Aramis kept up a brutal pace, dragging him along when Porthos stumbled.

Porthos wouldn’t remember much of the journey back to the barracks – in fact, it was only when Athos (and where did he come from?), grumbling about the waste of good alcohol, shoved half a bottle down his throat that he roused.

“Aramis!” he sputtered, choking on the potent mixture. “Athos, stop holding me down. I am going to kill him.”

“Porthos,” d’Artagnan, sounding a little too eager, said.

Porthos ducked the shot he knew was coming, letting it hit his jaw rather than his temple like d’Artagnan meant. “Damn it, d’Artagnan, let me-”

“Porthos,” Athos said, in that infuriatingly all-knowing tone of his, “Aramis needs to set your ankle and stitch the graze.”

Porthos considered that, grunted and motioned for another drink of alcohol.

"Only if you promise to make him put on trousers."


	3. The One with Athos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Athos is 100% done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Red Tigress and edited by Meskeet.

Athos slid easily into the empty seat across the table from their mark. Aramis pulled up a chair behind Athos, watching his back. The man across the table looked startled.

“W-w-who are you?” he stammered, eyes glancing wildly around the dimly-lit tavern.

“Vermeer,” Athos lied. “Our mutual friend said I’d be here.”

The other man was instantly on his guard. “R-right,” he confirmed. Athos was weary. Trevelle had been told that this man had a plan to assassinate the governor of a town outside of Paris. Athos and Aramis had been assigned to get in on the plan under the guise of upset locals and spoken for by their informant. But it was clear the man was unstable, and undercover may not have been the best approach.

“Listen,” Athos said, making the effort to make his voice as pleading and desperate as possible. “My brother and I are here because our family’s farm has been taxed into oblivion. We can’t afford to live anymore, and for that, someone needs to pay. We need to send a message. Can you help us do that?”

“The o-operation’s already pretty big,” the man whispered, still glancing around. Athos noticed two big, burly men at the bar, scowling in their direction. “I’m not sure I can let m-more people in. The man who’s paying me-”

Aramis and Athos shared a glance. “I thought this was your plan,” Athos said hesitantly. The whole plan had been to appeal to the man as fellow working-class people who shared common ground. If someone was paying him…

“T-to make…” he trailed off, and Athos felt the floorboards under his chair shift slightly as the two burly men from the bar were suddenly next to him.

“Lawrence, are you telling tales again?” one of them growled.

Athos glanced from Lawrence to them, trying to look nervous, like a farmer who bit off more than he could chew would. Although it was clear they may have bit off more than they could chew.

“Monsiers, I am truly sorry for the egress. I was not aware-”

“Aramis?” a high-pitched, astonished voice sounded from behind the large men. Athos’ head swiveled in Aramis’ direction. The other man’s eyes had gone comically wide, and Athos felt the beginnings of not a little bit of rage creep up within him.

Everyone turned to see a lovely woman that Aramis was pretty sure was the govorner’s wife standing behind them looking astonished.

“Madame, you mistake me for someone else,” Aramis smiled nervously. Athos turned to glare at his companion, making sure the incredulity was plain on his face.

They all watched, frozen, as first confusion, then disbelief, and then rage flashed across the other woman’s face.

“Do not lie sitting right in front of me, Aramis! You wicked man, I should have you arrested,” she growled.

Athos’ eye twitched. This was why people drank. Aramis shot him a helpless look.

“Madame,” one of the men said. “Do you know this man?”

“Indeed I do,” she hissed. “This is Aramis of the King’s Musketeers.”

The men drew their swords, Lawrence yelped, Aramis stood, the woman shrieked, and Athos sank further into his chair in abhorrence.

His antipathy was short-lived when both men thrust their swords towards him and Aramis. Quick as a snake, he drew his own rapier, blocking the downward sweep at his head. Athos kicked out, making the man back away from him as he leapt to his feet. Aramis had done something similar, and now two faced off against two as the woman fled and Lawrence dove under the table.

“I really should leave this to you,” Athos grumbled.

“I would not entirely blame you if you did,” Aramis admitted.

“Good. Because when I am at your funeral, I will say your death was your own fault. Which it very much will be.”

Aramis grimaced and shrugged in response.

Suddenly, the smell of something burning filled Athos’ nose. His eyes widened, as he saw the bomb roll in between the four men.

Athos grabbed Aramis and pulled him behind a thick table, turning it down. But as the fuse reached the bomb, there was a hiss and a thick smoke filled the air instead of an explosion. People began coughing and trying to escape the confusion.

Athos, about to reach wit’s end, pulled his companion towards where he knew the door to be. They stumbled out into the daylight, and Athos gave Aramis a hefty push. “Set your sights lower,” he growled. Aramis coughed, looking at him a little guiltily.

“Funny,” he coughed. “Porthos said the same thing, once.”

“He was absolutely correct.”

There was the squeak of a window being opened, and they saw Lawrence climb out. When the man saw them, he started running in the other direction.

“Get him,” Athos ordered. Aramis didn’t question it, sprinting after the smaller man.

Athos calmly strode to his horse, fully intent on making Aramis do the rest of the leg work.


End file.
